It's about half past eleven now—that took a while. The sun is high, the birds are singing, it's a good day, all things considered. The post-apocalypse isn't feeling so bad in Kakariko Village.

There's nothing much particularly that catches her attention from the street, but maybe Hylia herself descended from the heavens to answer Link's prayers and he's done early?

Maybe so! Or maybe she has time to make a quick stop at Claree's and suggest duplicating all her sewing tools for her. The Pockets Must Fill.

...all right, all right, she'll check at the inn first.

She actually runs into Link on the way, who was heading towards the scriptorium after asking directions from a passer-by.

"It worked?" he says.

"Praying to Hylia, you mean?" She has to take a moment to sort out her feelings before she can say, with appropriate conviction, "Good."

"I don't know if Hylia had anything to do with it," he hedges. "It was... a tap opening inside me, and power flowing out of me, then spinning into a different shape, and I could—veer—what shape it spun into, and it flowed back into me? She didn't speak to me. Now I know what it feels like, I'll try next time doing it without a Goddess Statue."

That might be the most words he's spoken in one go since he woke up.

—she smiles. Hearing that praying to Hylia worked had her managing herself carefully to give the right impression; hearing how it actually worked, in his own words, leaves her too enchantedly happy to do anything but answer straight from the heart.

"Well. I'm glad you're figuring it out and I look forward to you developing your skill and understanding further with time. Lunch, and then time for my lessons?"

...Why is it that whenever she rehearses her words insufficiently she comes out sounding like either a total clod or a TV soundbite or both?

...Okay. That's... good? He nods after a pause.

Auuuugh she's so awkwaaaaard no! Happy!! She metaphorically grabs onto her happiness with both hands and sits on it before it can run away. ...and then, after a moment, resettles herself and leads the way toward the inn.

Their way back is uneventful, and they manage to catch yet a third new employee setting out lunch. She waves them hello. Lunch is a mixed meat stir fry and brown rice.

"I'll do shrines while you take lessons?" Link says.

"Sure!"

No one else is around for lunch either, so they can have a blessedly peaceful meal.

It's nice to have some quiet time. (And pockets full of snacks.)

And then: ninja lessons?

Yep!

The indicated training grounds aren't hard to find, and once they're in sight, Link sets off for the Kakariko Village shrine.

The grounds are empty, save a single old man practicing alone with a wooden stick, working through sword forms against the air in short huffs. As Zelda gets closer, she might remember him as the man who was talking to the woman in the produce store last night. When she enters, the man slows to a stop and turns to greet her.

"You must be the young woman Lady Impa asked me to teach, hmm?"

"That's right!"

"Always good to know how to use a sword, I say. The best defense is a good offense!" He strokes his chin. "But when the Lady says to keep nothing in reserve, and teach an outsider as if they were my own flesh and blood... you do get curious! But it's not my place to ask questions, especially when the answers won't help no one. Ah, but I'm rambling."

He waves her over and walks towards the side of the training ground, where a square table and some stools are.

"Well, my students are usually younger than you—an understatement, hah! But I think the first lesson is comes through the same. Come on, come on, you won't be spending much time on your feet today, I think."

She follows along cheerfully enough.

On the table is a sword, in perfect condition, an array of nine wooden blocks, and a spread of knives laid out horizontally.

"I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Steen. Master of the art of offense! Or so I'd like to say, but I haven't been in those darn shrines. I hear they have all kinds of trials meant to hone you into the perfect swordsman! A bit of an empty boast, to otherwise. Anyway. Have you ever tried to cut paper with blunt scissors?"

He makes a snappy cutting motion with his fingers.

"And it does that thing where it folds around your blade and won't cut, and you have to pull it back out, and focus, and—snip!"

He repeats the motion, but—still quick, but more precise and deliberate.

"Hmm!" she says, intrigued. "I think I might know what you mean."

"That's intent. Intent, subliminal force, externalized focus, call it what you like. The blade art—the one true masters practice, not the way silly Hylians swing their big swords around—no offense—is all about intent. And all the things those fancypants masters can do, those special techniques, that chi and energy they're always talking about... it's all derivative of intent. Let me demonstrate."

He holds up his stick he was practicing. It's not a walking stick or anything; it's a random fallen tree branch he must have picked up somewhere, a few leaves still on it.

"Examine this. No tricks. Just a stick."

He takes a knife from the table and spends fifteen seconds whittling its end into a makeshift blade. Then he holds it out for Zelda to examine again.

"Touch the edge. Practically blunt, yes?"

"Hmm." She runs her fingers carefully along the wood and nods. "Yes."

He nods at the sword on the table.

"Now, pick that up and hold it out? You can test its edge as well if you like, and its strength. Don't worry about your stance. Angle its edge just a little towards me, like so?" He twists his wrist.

"Hmm..."

She picks up the sword and does as directed, examining it closely and then holding it like so.

And Steen takes his own place opposite her.

He hefts his stick, gives it a few test swings, steps forward, and bisects the steel sword in one clean stroke.

The old man puffs as the top half of the blade clatters to the ground and takes a cheerful bow. "Simple as that."

"Hmm," she says, fascinated. "I can't do that." A slight pause. "Yet."

Steen claps. "That's the spirit! Now, the lesson today, now that my theatrics are done with, is to learn to recognize when you're exercising refined intent, and if you get that far, learn to deliberately project it on command. As for how—"

He gestures at the wood blocks and knives on the table.

"The wood blocks are identical. These knives are arranged from sharpest to dullest. Your task is to, starting with the sharpest knife, cut slices from the block, like chopping a vegetable." He demonstrates. "Don't saw—cut, single stroke. If the block fractures, you're doing it wrong, using brute force instead of refined intent. If you don't cut all the way through, don't overlap your next cut. When you can reliably cut through a block with the knife, move on to the next knife. When you can reliably cut the block with the dullest knife? We can graduate to something more interesting."